The grand assembly hall gleamed under golden light, chandeliers trembling slightly as a faint breeze slipped through the open windows. The scent of incense clung to the air, mixing with the aged parchment and polished wood. On the throne, adorned with gold and deep crimson, sat King Aldric Varion, ruler of the most prosperous nation in the world.
By his side, seated slightly lower, was Princess Seraphina, idly tracing the armrest of her chair, only half-listening as the ministers droned on about trade agreements and border disputes. The grandeur of the hall was undeniable—marble pillars, lavish tapestries—but at this moment, it felt suffocating.
Then—
Bang!
The grand doors slammed open, crashing against the marble walls. The chandeliers rattled. A gasp rippled through the room as a figure stumbled inside, breathless, drenched in sweat. His hood was thrown back, revealing a face pale with urgency—
Velmar, the King's personal assassin.
The man fell to one knee, chest heaving.
"Insolence!" One of the elder ministers slammed his cane against the floor. "How dare you burst into His Majesty's presence in such disgrace?"
Others joined in, their voices rising in fury.
"Guards, remove this fool at once!"
"King Aldric, allow me to—"
But the King raised a hand, and the hall fell silent.
His piercing gaze locked onto Velmar. If he had come like this, something was terribly wrong.
Velmar swallowed hard. "Your Majesty… it is urgent."
Aldric's fingers curled around the armrest. "Speak."
Velmar inhaled sharply. "Someone has spread the word… that Your Majesty will be assassinated."
A beat of silence. Then—
Laughter.
A minister chuckled. "Velmar, that is hardly news. There has never been a day when someone didn't wish for a king's death."
Another waved a dismissive hand. "We rule nations, we make enemies—it is expected."
Velmar's hands tightened into fists.
"Not this time."
The air in the room shifted. The laughter died, replaced by unease.
Velmar's voice dropped to a near whisper—
"It's been accepted… by 'The Garbage Man.'"
Everything stopped.
The ministers' faces drained of color. The King's grip tightened, knuckles white. Even the air seemed heavier, suffocating the once-opulent hall.
"The Garbage Man?" One minister's voice cracked. "Surely, that's a myth."
"No one has seen him in years," another muttered. "He is a ghost… a legend."
Velmar shook his head. "He is real. And he is coming."
Seraphina blinked, tilting her head. "Garbage Man?" A scoff left her lips. "That's the name of this feared assassin?"
She turned, expecting someone to laugh.
No one did.
Her father wasn't looking at her. He wasn't looking at anyone.
He was staring at the ground, silent.
A thin sheen of sweat lined his brow. For the first time in her life, Seraphina saw fear in his eyes.
Her amusement faded.
Her fingers curled against her gown. "Father… what's happening?"
Aldric's voice was hollow. "Garbage Man… He is not someone weak…"
A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed.
"He is the opposite. The opposite of existence."
The room felt colder.
"Everywhere he goes, destruction follows."
A minister stepped back. "This is madness! You speak as if he is an unstoppable force."
Aldric's eyes flickered toward the minister, but he said nothing.
Velmar exhaled sharply. "You don't get it." He glanced around, his expression growing more desperate. "This isn't just another assassin. This isn't a rebellion or a rogue killer seeking glory."
A younger minister, barely out of his twenties, scoffed. "Then what is he?"
Velmar's next words came slow, deliberate. "He is a calamity."
Another silence settled, heavy and suffocating.
Then—
A thin red line appeared on Aldric's throat.
Blood trickled down his skin.
His head rolled off his shoulders and hit the marble floor.
A gasp tore through the hall. Seraphina's body froze.
"No—" a minister began, but his words choked in his throat.
Then—
A sound. A voice.
Smooth. Calm. Final.
"I am just a Garbage Man who cleans up."
A heartbeat later—
The hall exploded.
Marble walls shattered. The throne, the banners, the chandeliers—obliterated in a surge of destruction.
Seraphina hit the floor, coughing through the dust. The ministers, those still standing, were frozen in horror.
A shadow loomed in the center of the wreckage.
A man.
Six feet tall. Beautiful face. Dressed in black.
His muffler shifted in the wind, the only thing moving.
He was smiling.
Seraphina's breath caught.
Outside the palace—
The guards. The knights. Every single one of them lay dead.
Their heads—gone.
The man sighed.
And then—
He vanished.
The explosion engulfed the remains of the hall.
Flames swallowed everything whole.
The last thing Seraphina saw were the frozen faces of those around her—
Locked in absolute shock.